“Are you ready?” Vice asked her, his voice low. “If you feel tired…” Mirage could hear the music pouring out of the venue in the occasional breaks in the roar from the crowds gathered around the red carpet as the limousine driver opened the door. The crowd pressed against the barricades trying to see who was in the car. “I am fine,” she assured him. “Fit as a fiddle.” Both he and Victor would happily have kept her home and in bed forever more, she thought, amused. Vice lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles before releasing her. She watched him slide elegantly out of the car, something only he could do, she was certain. The man simply oozed elegance in every movement, like a sleekly coated panther. She heard the crowds scream his name, excitement rising the pitch, and the flash as cameras went into a frenzy, and his laughter, enjoying their admiration. Vain boy, Natalia called him fondly. As usually, Victor’s mother was entirely correct. But Mirage loved the vain boy
“This is a bad idea,” Victor complained, swinging on his chair as the pop artist moved across the screen before them. They had spent the day researching the artist, and a simple internet search had popped up a seemingly endless litany of drama. “She is a live wire.”Vice blew out a breath. He did not disagree with his business partner, but their manager, Aaron, had offered them the opportunity, and they would be fools to turn it down. “She has been in the top ten for pop for six years, produced four multiplatinum albums, and one which went diamond, which is more than we can say,” he pointed out. “She has sold out eight tours in that time as well.”“She has also been on every gossip mag cover for the last twelve months because of her lifestyle habits,” Victor argued. “Drugs, alcohol, rehab, eating disorders.” He ticked them off on his fingers.“So, she is a hard-working screw up,” Vice shrugged. “She is pretty.”Victor laughed out a sigh. “Filters.”“No, I saw her briefly on the red-ca
Victor was lifting weights in the gym when Mirage entered in the morning. She paused in the doorway, as if debating entering and then shrugged and did so.“’Morning,” she said, and stuck a bottle of water into the holder of the treadmill before setting a gruelling pace that had him drooling within five minutes of watching her run.After thirty trialling minutes for them both, he thought wryly, she finished her run and moved to the pull up bar. She had her earbuds in, and whatever she listened to, it certainly motivated her. She pushed herself beyond tolerance, and he grimaced seeing the shake in her muscles as she lowered to the ground after the last set.He followed her into the infrared sauna. She had taken out her earbuds and left them on her phone on the bench outside. They sat together, sweating, and panting, and, in his case at least, lusting, he thought. She seemed indifferent to him. It was not something that he was accustomed to, a woman being disinterested.“So, Vice doesn’t
Mirage drifted on the inflatable pool lounge, one hand holding a mocktail that Vice had mixed for her, and the other trailing in the water, as she watched the two men from behind the shield of her sunglasses. There were worse ways to spend a hot summer afternoon, she thought, and there couldn’t be a better view.If there was a God, she definitely was a woman, Mirage concluded, because only a woman would have crafted Vice and Victor. They belonged on the covers of the romance books her mother used to read. Victor was a sun-kissed idol of a man, all broad shoulders, bronzed skin, strong jaw, and almost white-blonde hair, reminding her of movie superheroes, and Vice was lean, his hair like thick black silk, all sharp cheekbones and smouldering eyes, reminiscent of the models that sulked their way across the billboards, hands in pockets, and moody darkness in their eyes.A man for every taste, she joked to herself, except for hers. She was done with men. She was not into women, either how
Vice was not surprised when Aaron called with the news that the label wanted a meeting to discuss their progress on the album. They were nervous, Aaron suggested, about two producers so new to the role handling such a major album for the label and just needed some reassurance. Vice had other thoughts.“Mr Rich is causing waves,” he said to Victor.“Well, we are prepared for that, aren’t we?” Victor was not flustered. “So, we will go, let him try to bring us down, and show him up.”Mirage spent half an hour on the phone to her lawyer, and then another twenty minutes talking to Aaron when she was told. They leaned against the kitchen bench and watched her pace the patio, on the phone, her body language growing tenser by the minute.“Something went down,” Vice murmured. “What do we know about Mr Rich?”“Leans more towards popstars, seems to like young women as artists,” Victor replied, bracing his arms against the bench, and leaning into them. “Solid results as a producer, but Mirage wou
The driver opened the door and Victor slid out, reaching a hand back to help her out. She caught the flash of light as photographs were taken. She always thought the label notified the media when meetings were held so that a photographer was on site to snap stars coming and going through its doors, advertising the star drawing power of the label.Vice linked his arm through hers and she felt Victor’s hand resting warm against her lower back.“Smile,” Vice said through his teeth as he flashed the photographer a wide grin, and she plastered a bright smile on her face in an almost automatic reaction. The two men changed angles, maximising the photo opportunity, laughing, and chatting to the photographers cheerfully, answering questions thrown at them with a comfortable ease.“We are working with Mirage on her next album,” Vice schmoozed to the woman photographer to the left. “It is a very exciting piece of work.”“Yes, it is coming along,” Victor responded to the man on the other side. “
The music pounded out of the nightclub, and the lights flashed through the open doors guarded by burly, black clad bouncers. The line-up was extensive, the waiting club goers bouncing on the spot with excitement, trying to catch the attention of Vice, Victor and Mirage as they posed on the pavement in front of the entrance. Mirage laughed and shimmied for the cameras, sending the silver tassels on her dress dancing. “I have my producers here tonight,” she said in answer to a question. “We are taking a break from recording my next album,” she pressed herself against Vice’s side and pouted for a photo. “Mirage!” Someone from the roped off queue into the club called out her name and she excused herself to chat with her fans, posing for a selfie photo before returning to Victor and posing for another photographer. “Yes,” Victor answered a question thrown at him from the photographer’s ranks. “We are producing Mirage’s next album. It has an edgier sound than her previous albums, which w
“F-k!” Vice was breathless, and she thought that, like her, he was cresting on the edge of coming. She could feel the throb of him against her. Her lipstick stained his lips, and the sight of it smeared across his gorgeous mouth was so erotic that she shuddered, causing him to moan, his eyes going to half-mast. Victor lifted her off Vice’s lap and placed her handbag onto her lap, retrieving the makeup wipes and passing one to Vice along with the makeup compact. Victor took out her powder and brushed it lightly along her t-zone, before applying her lipstick for her, making the appropriate face at her as he painted her lips. Of course, she thought with a smile, they would know about makeup, too. Vice returned the compact to the handbag and shoved the makeup wipes into the bin. Victor adjusted her dress and met her eyes with a grin. “Perfect again,” he told her, his fingers brushing lightly across her cheek in a caress. He slid back into his seat as the limousine slowed to a crawl, e
“Are you ready?” Vice asked her, his voice low. “If you feel tired…” Mirage could hear the music pouring out of the venue in the occasional breaks in the roar from the crowds gathered around the red carpet as the limousine driver opened the door. The crowd pressed against the barricades trying to see who was in the car. “I am fine,” she assured him. “Fit as a fiddle.” Both he and Victor would happily have kept her home and in bed forever more, she thought, amused. Vice lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles before releasing her. She watched him slide elegantly out of the car, something only he could do, she was certain. The man simply oozed elegance in every movement, like a sleekly coated panther. She heard the crowds scream his name, excitement rising the pitch, and the flash as cameras went into a frenzy, and his laughter, enjoying their admiration. Vain boy, Natalia called him fondly. As usually, Victor’s mother was entirely correct. But Mirage loved the vain boy
“Hello, sweetie,” there was no wondering who the woman stroking back her hair was, her eyes were exactly the same shade of Victor’s and there were shadows of him in the shape of her nose and the high cheekbones. “Natalia.” Mirage’s voice was a croak. “Vice and Victor?” “The boys are fine, so don’t you worry about them,” Natalia adjusted the bed, until Mirage was sitting up enough to drink, and held a cup with a straw to her mouth. “You are alright, my darling.” “I feel awful,” Mirage admitted, sinking back into the cushions. “Where is Vice and Victor?” “Nicola has taken those boys in hand and taken them home for showers and food,” Natalia replied. “They were starting to smell.” “How long has it been?” Vice and Victor were not the only ones who smelled, Mirage noted, wrinkling her nose. “I need a shower and toothbrush.” “It is Saturday morning,” Natalia said. “I will ring the nurse.” There were flowers, cards, and balloons all around the room. “Oh, wow,” Mirage said. “Who are al
“Do you remember when pulling up to this building was exciting?” Mirage asked Vice and Victor as the limousine slowed to a stop out front of the gleaming tower of glass with its neon highlights of color drawing the eye into the glossy foyer. A bored security guard watched the red carpet out front through the glass doors, to see what celebrity had gotten the photographers that lingered by standing invitation to capture the comings and goings, and she could see Aaron, in a blue suit, near the reception desk. “Now every time I come here; I feel like I am arming up for a battle.” “I know the feeling,” Victor agreed as they waited for the chauffeur to make his way to the door. “It is just further motivation to start our own label.” “Well, into the fray,” Vice smoothed the lapel of his jacket as the driver opened the door, standing back crisply. Vice stepped out, raising his hand, and beaming at the photographers, before reaching back into the limo to hand Mirage out. “Watch your skirt,”
Victor leaned against the bench as he waited for the coffee to percolate and watched his partner at work. Vice was bent over the control board his headphones on, his posture hunched, and his eyes closed as he nodded along with the music. Vice’s cheeks were dark with stubble, and he had shadows under his eyes. He looked as if they had put in a few hard nights partying, rather than at the control board and in the attached recording room. They were both looking a bit rough, Victor thought wryly. The last few days they had been putting in hard hours in the studio, getting as many tracks down as possible. Their mornings were early, showers perfunctory, and days long. Mirage had taken to bringing their meals to the studio and collecting the plates afterwards to ensure that they ate. But the hard work was gradually paying off. The album was shaping up, and it was solid. It did not have the magic of passion behind it that Mirage’s did, but they were convinced they were doing their best work
On Monday Raven turned up unannounced at their gate as was his habit. Victor went to greet him at the door as Vice and Mirage were already in the pool, and watched as the lean, black-haired, sharply featured man got out of the crappy silver sedan he was driving. Raven looked rough even by his normal standards with a week’s worth of stubble on his face and shadows under his eyes, but he grinned widely, revealing a flash of strong white teeth against his olive complexion, upon seeing Victor. “If you offer me coffee, I am not responsible for my reaction,” Raven said. “What?” Victor raised an eyebrow and realised that he was teasing him about the manbun he was wearing and the beard he had been growing in. He stroked his beard between his forefinger and thumb. “You don’t like the beard? Apparently, they are the current fashion, and it doesn’t raise a rash on Mirage. Anywhere,” he added with a glint in his eye. Raven snorted. “You grew a beard so you that didn’t prickle your woman when
“Bloody hell,” Vice declared as he opened the door into their house. “I don’t think I have ever been so glad to get home. I think I am drunk off the smell of house.” “What does house smell like, exactly?” Mirage giggled. “Hmm,” he drew in a breath. “Ghosts of your perfume, furniture polish, and Victor’s gym socks.” “Hey,” Victor protested. “My gym socks are a refined vintage.” “Keep telling yourself that, whilst the rest of us gag,” Vice replied. “I smell,” Mirage stepped in. “Vice’s aftershave, and Victor’s shampoo, and staleness.” “I smell,” Victor followed them into the hall leaving the driver to unload the boot. “Vice’s toy room,” he added optimistically. “What does my toy room smell like?” Vice asked with a sly grin. “Lube, vinyl, and leather.” Victor replied readily. “Is that wishful thinking?” Vice asked conversationally as he claimed a suitcase from the front door and placed it into the front hall. “Factual thinking,” Victor decided. “Unpack, shower, food, wine, and
Victor watched Mirage through the window into the DJ booth. She was smiling brightly at the DJ as she answered questions about her show. She wore a t-shirt advertising herself, over a pair of jeans, biker boots, and a cropped leather jacket, her hair slicked back into her signature ponytail, complete with pink-tipped extensions, and looked every part of the rockstar that she was. “She is holding up,” Vice murmured. “She is strong, our Mira.” “Mmm,” Victor wanted nothing more than to cancel the rest of her tour and take her home where he and Vice could keep her safe from the outside world that was too often cruel to her. But Mirage lived for her music, and being up close and personal, seeing the faces of her fans, was doing a lot to rebuild her confidence after twelve months of media harassment. He had taken control of Mirage’s phone and was fighting the desire to ring the burner phone number, to see if Mr Rich would answer, and then spewing some of the vitriol he was feeling toward
The seating arrangement was meant to be cosy and confidential. To the viewer it probably looked so. There were fake walls on three sides to give the impression that they were in a sitting room and not a studio, and she was certain that the green screens behind the windows would be filled with a pretty garden view and the sound-track augmented by birdsong by the time the show aired. The couches were possibly the most uncomfortable ones she had ever sat upon, Mirage thought. But maybe that was in her head because of her dread of the topic she was there to discuss. Kelly certainly appeared to be comfortable on them. But Mirage was glad that Vice had selected trousers, and not a skirt, for the interview, as the angle of the seats was such that she would have been fighting to keep her hemline decent. The last thing she needed was to flash a camera whilst she was there to discuss a sex crime committed against her. The combination of clothing that Vice had thrown together was stylish, rela
Victor was woken when his phone rang at eight am. He groaned. Less than four hours of sleep was torturous, he thought, but it wouldn’t be the first time that he and Vice had worked under such deprivation. Mirage was still out, he noted, the sleeping pill still working to keep her in the oblivion of unconsciousness, but he saw Vice’s eyes open a slit and close again as Victor moved. Mirage’s head was on his bicep, so he rolled onto his back and felt blindly for his mobile. Aaron’s name appeared on the screen. He accepted the call. “Hey.” “It is me,” Aaron told him. “I am downstairs.” “It is Aaron,” he said to Vice. “He is downstairs. I will call the concierge to bring you up,” he said to Aaron. “We will order room service. Vice and I are going to need a lot more coffee than this kitchenette holds.” “I have got go cups here,” Aaron said. “I love you,” Victor said easing his arm out from under Mirage. Vice had his arm over her, and he snuggled in closer with a sigh, which was, Vict